


Just Desserts

by Suspicious_Popsicle



Series: College Town [4]
Category: Tales of Vesperia
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluri, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-11 16:02:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/800546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suspicious_Popsicle/pseuds/Suspicious_Popsicle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flynn walked into the apartment to see Yuri waiting to greet him wearing a little black apron and a smile…and nothing else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Desserts

**Author's Note:**

> “Reverse Psychology” and “Rosemary and Thyme” were the first two stories I wrote for College Town. “All That Glitters” and this one were the thirteenth and fourteenth stories, counting the “Poetic License” drabble on my journal. Apparently, College Town has returned to its roots.
> 
> Disclaimer: The characters in this story are from Tales of Vesperia and do not belong to me.

Flynn walked into the apartment to see Yuri waiting to greet him wearing a little black apron and a smile…and nothing else.

He stared helplessly, frozen just inside the door. The look on Yuri’s face was pure mischief of the sort that usually ended either with him laughing at Flynn’s expense, or with the two of them pressed close together in a tangle of limbs and desires. Yuri’s arms were behind his back, and he was leaning forward a little, enough that he had to look up at Flynn, making his eyes seem darker than usual beneath his lashes. Cocking his head to the side set a lock of his hair slipping over his shoulder, black silk over bare skin, and the motion caught Flynn’s eye and drew his attention down.

He could see the outline of Yuri’s body around the apron: the gentle taper of his waist, the jut of his hip, the smooth muscle of his thigh. Yuri took a step forward and the thin cloth of the apron, not even long enough to reach his knees, shifted and gathered shadows and Flynn swallowed hard, intimately familiar with all the parts of Yuri’s anatomy that were only barely hidden away.

Slowly, Yuri drew an arm out from behind his back, and Flynn followed the movement with his eyes, focus trailing along forearm, wrist, and hand to fingers pinched delicately around the very end of an apron string that grew taut and called up an anticipatory tension in Flynn. When Yuri went still, Flynn knew all it would take was one quick tug for the knot to come loose and he couldn’t understand why Yuri had stopped and why he couldn’t bring himself to move, couldn’t do anything more than stare expectantly at that thin strip of black fabric.

There was a quick, electronic whirring sound which broke Flynn out of his trance, and his attention snapped up to see that Yuri was holding up his cell, grinning almost too wide for his face. He turned away and began walking toward his room, fiddling with his phone, and Flynn was stuck staring once more until Yuri spoke.

“I knew that would get me a good shot. That’s gonna be your new caller ID pic. Shut the door, will you?”

Flynn’s messenger bag hit the floor as he came to his senses and spun to do as Yuri had said, checking anxiously for any passing neighbors who might have gotten an accidental eyeful. Yuri’s laughter sounded down the hall, heating Flynn’s cheeks and dulling his regret over the way his potentially exciting welcome had gone awry.

“You owe me a point,” Yuri called out.

“For what?”

“Do I need to show you the look on your face?” 

Rolling his eyes, Flynn took off his shoes and set them next to the door. “That did not earn you a point.”

“What?” Yuri came back down the hall, pulling his hair up to tie it back. The ponytail swung behind him as he ran a hand through it one last time before fishing his phone out of the pocket of his apron. “Look at this.”

It wasn’t a good photo. Yuri had needed to take it fast before Flynn caught on, and that had resulted in a blurry and partially out of frame portrait of Flynn staring, transfixed and, admittedly, looking a little brainless. He glanced from the picture to Yuri and brushed past him to put his messenger bag away in his room.

“Seems like a compliment. I think you owe me a point for that one.”

“You have to be kidding. You’re _drooling_.” 

“You sound surprised.”

He followed Flynn into his room, holding out the phone as if he could change Flynn’s mind. It was a little funny, really. Apparently, Yuri didn’t realize that he sometimes wore the same expression when he looked at Flynn. More than that, he still seemed to think that getting Flynn turned on was some sort of victory. Victories required effort, and Yuri didn’t need to expend any effort if all he wanted was for Flynn to want him. Game over. Mission accomplished.

“Hey. Give me my point. I’ve got to get dressed and make dinner.”

Setting his bag aside, Flynn turned to face him and smiled as inspiration struck. “I’ll make a deal with you. If you can cook dinner for us like that, I’ll give you a point.”

When Yuri’s grin came back full force, Flynn matched it. He thought he’d won, but he didn’t know what Flynn had in store. One of them would be getting a point added to his side of their scoreboard that evening, and it wasn’t going to be Yuri.

“All I have to do is make dinner? Piece of cake.” 

He sauntered out of the room, and it was all Flynn could do not to grab him around the waist and drag him into bed. They would get to that later. First, he was going to have a little fun. He pocketed his phone and killed a few minutes pulling out what he needed to finish up some assignments later on. Quiet noises from the kitchen floated to him from down the short hall: the fridge door opening and closing, the dull squeak of drawers and metallic rattle of utensils, the clank and clatter of items being set down on the counter, and the hiss of the faucet. When he heard the tok-tok-tok of rapid chopping, Flynn judged that Yuri was probably well enough immersed in what he was doing, and he made his way out to the kitchen.

For a minute, he lingered at the very edge of the linoleum that demarcated Yuri’s domestic domain, simply admiring the view. Yuri was chopping potatoes and every few seconds, he would shift his weight as he added the pieces accumulating on his tiny chopping board to the bowl waiting at his elbow. His hair caught and amplified his movements, swinging to brush lightly, teasingly over his lean back. Yuri had positively statuesque legs, long and toned, and Flynn let his gaze linger on them a moment as Yuri swayed. He watched the subtle, shifting curve between the very tops of Yuri’s thighs and the firm flesh of his ass. Flynn knew the textures of his skin there, knew where he should stroke to make Yuri shiver, where he could bite to make him cry out. 

A little further up, there was a place low on Yuri’s side that, with the proper attention, would leave him mewling and weak as a kitten. Flynn smiled a little, remembering. The day he’d discovered that particular erogenous spot had been the first time he’d ever seen Yuri looking embarrassed after sex. He couldn’t help thinking it was sort of cute, though he knew better than to ever voice that thought aloud.

He let his eyes rake up Yuri’s back, past the stark black of the apron ties, a bow around a gift meant just for him. He watched the tiny motions of muscles in Yuri’s back as he worked, the faint twitch and slide of little adjustments beneath the skin. All those little movements showcased by his state of undress fascinated Flynn. Yuri had to know that he was being watched, but he didn’t make any acknowledgement, apparently as comfortable being stared at as he would have been alone and fully clothed.

Ready to begin his game, Flynn stepped fully into the kitchen, gliding past Yuri with only the briefest of touches over his hips as he slipped past and went to open the fridge.

“What are you looking for? This isn’t going to take long.”

“I just wanted a little snack.” 

There was a can of Reddi-wip behind the milk, and Flynn’s smile grew as he spotted it. Bingo. He peered up over the fridge door, watching Yuri mix spices into the bowl of potatoes and wondering how he was going to keep Yuri from figuring out what he was up to.

“What are you making?”

“Eggs-in-a-basket and seasoned potatoes. Pass me the olive oil, will you?”

Flynn handed over the little bottle out of the cabinet over the fridge and, as Yuri drizzled some of the oil into one waiting frying pan, he very stealthily tucked the whipped cream against his leg and sidled along until he stood directly behind him. Luckily, Yuri was still playing at not caring that all of Flynn’s focus was on him, so he didn’t notice as Flynn carefully raised the can.

“Did you find your— _fuck_!”

Yuri actually jumped when Flynn sprayed a line of whipped cream up his spine. Eyes wide, he spun to glare at Flynn, reaching for his back.

“What the hell…? Whipped cream? What are you—”

“The oil is starting to sizzle.”

Immediately, Yuri turned back to the stove to tend to his pan. As soon as he did, Flynn leaned in and licked across the few inches of cream. To his delight, he felt a little thrill pass through Yuri. Hooking two fingers into the apron ties, he tugged as he licked once more, faintly tasting the salt of Yuri’s skin beneath the sweetness. He could get used to desserts like this.

“Don’t suppose…ahh…you wanna wait till after dinner?”

“Mm.” Straightening up, he swept Yuri’s hair out of the way and kissed his neck. “Think of this as the appetizer.”

“I’m trying to cook. You can’t start messing with me and still say I didn’t manage to make us dinner.” He tossed the potatoes into the pan and gave them a cursory stir.

“All I said was that you had to cook for us wearing the apron. As long as I don’t pull this little knot loose—” he tugged teasingly on the trailing apron strings “—or drag you out of the kitchen, nothing I do is cheating.”

Yuri glanced over his shoulder, trying and failing to hold back a smirk. “Since when are you so comfortable bending the rules?”

“Since I remembered we had spray-on whipped cream.” 

He sprayed a dollop right on the back of Yuri’s neck, chuckling a little at the way he flinched before ducking his head to clean him off. From the way Yuri let him go on, Flynn figured he probably didn’t think things were going to get very far. The kitchen was the only part of the apartment—including the little balcony off Flynn’s room—that they’d never had sex in. Oddly enough, it was Yuri who had been so strict about imposing the ban. As Flynn had never pressed the issue, it was almost certain that Yuri expected the foreplay to end after a little teasing. He was in for a surprise.

Flynn kept his kisses and touches mostly unobtrusive and let Yuri use a cookie cutter to cut the centers out of the four slices of bread he had waiting on a plate beside the stove. He let Yuri butter a second pan and get a couple slices of the bread in to toast. As Yuri cracked an egg into the center of the first piece, Flynn slipped an arm around him beneath the apron and tweaked his nipple.

Yuri gasped and swore. “I dropped the shell in the pan, you ass.” He plucked it out and tossed it carelessly over his shoulder at Flynn.

“Be sure you don’t leave any pieces behind.” 

He rolled his fingers, feeling the little nub of flesh harden. Pity he couldn’t make full use of the cream, but that would just have to wait. He teased, feeling the flex of Yuri’s shoulders up against his chest, and trailing his lips along the curve of Yuri’s ear. He blew softly over the delicate skin, lips curving up in a smile at the shiver he earned.

“The potatoes are burning,” he whispered.

Yuri elbowed him in the ribs. “They are not. I know what I’m doing.” In spite of his protests, he stirred them anyway before cracking an egg into the second slice of bread.

Flynn’s cheeks were starting to hurt from grinning. He hadn’t really thought it would be quite so easy to distract Yuri. For once, he was glad to be proven wrong. He underlined the contour of Yuri’s shoulder blade with the whipped cream and licked up through it, feeling even the slightest movements of Yuri’s body beneath his tongue. He kissed the crest of Yuri’s shoulder, the nape of his neck, and all across his upper back, nipping and sucking, intent on leaving him dappled with evidence of Flynn’s captivation. If Yuri needed the occasional reminder of how deeply Flynn was enthralled by him, Flynn had no qualms about giving him more than a candid photo to ease his mind.

The smell of spices, buttery toast, and egg filled the kitchen as Yuri began to squirm under Flynn’s attentions. His breath was coming faster, and several times he would pause and seem to forget what he was doing as he leaned his head back and moaned softly. Spraying another line of cream across the lowest point of Yuri’s back, Flynn set the can aside and knelt down, feeling Yuri lean forward as he withdrew his hand from the apron. Licking and nuzzling haphazardly through the cream, Flynn spread around as much as he cleaned off, making a mess of both of them as he inched closer to that particular spot on Yuri’s side.

“Fuck….”

“Something wrong?” He kissed away a smear of cream.

“Didn’t flip it right. You almost done playing around?” 

Despite his words, his voice was breathy and Flynn could feel the barest of tremors running through his body. Rather than answering, he continued along, sucking gently at Yuri’s skin with open-mouthed kisses until Yuri suddenly gasped and arched his back, pressing himself up against the oven.

“Oh. Did that hurt?” Flynn tried to sound as innocent as possible as he cheered inwardly. Yuri’s eroding focus was about to disappear entirely.

“Ass.” 

He groaned as Flynn bit him, marking that sensitive spot and making Yuri writhe, caught between him and the oven. As Flynn’s tongue lapped at his skin, Yuri made a sound that was more whimper than moan and his hands went white-knuckled with their grip on the counter to either side of the stovetop.

“F-Flynn…. Getting a little…mm…carried away.”

Momentarily, he paused in his efforts to turn Yuri to jelly. “It’s okay, right? After all, even if we keep going, you’re wearing this lovely apron to keep the kitchen clean.” Reaching a hand around overtop of the apron, he found to his delight that Yuri was already growing hard.

Yuri spluttered, breathless and frustrated in a couple different ways as Flynn pulled his hand back and picked up where he had left off. He ran his hands up and down Yuri’s thighs, knees to hips, letting his touch wander temptingly close to Yuri’s growing erection beneath the apron. Yuri’s breaths were audible, soft gasps that urged Flynn on.

“Gotta…gotta get the next pieces….” His hips jerked forward as Flynn’s fingers brushed up against the base of his manhood.

“I’m not stopping you.” 

Flynn murmured the words against him, feeling the radiating heat on his lips. Blowing across the flushed skin had Yuri muttering swears, and Flynn held off for a moment, as much to hold back his laughter as to let Yuri get the rest of their dinner into the pan. He listened for the sound of the eggs cracking and waited a moment longer before nipping lightly once more. Yuri shuddered beneath him and Flynn was surprised to hear another crack. Looking up, he saw that Yuri had crushed one of the empty shells in his hand.

“Sorry.” He leaned back a little, letting his fingers come to rest lightly on Yuri’s hips over the apron tie. “Are you all right?”

Yuri twisted to look down on Flynn from over his shoulder. His face was flushed and not particularly pleased, but he didn’t look all that upset, either.

“Now you’re realizing how this could go wrong?” He rolled his eyes as he dusted the shell onto the counter. “I need to wash my hands. Wanna let me over to the sink?”

Flynn let Yuri sidle along the counter and begin washing up before moving to kneel behind him once more. Yuri’s lower back was still a mess of cream, and Flynn dragged a finger through it and down the cleft of his ass. As he tongued him clean, Flynn teased with careful bites and noticed that, once again, Yuri seemed to be holding himself up largely due to his grip on the counter. He played his fingers up Yuri’s thighs once more, but this time, he didn’t stop just shy of Yuri’s erection, but took him in hand and began stroking gently.

Groaning, Yuri sagged against the counter and rolled his hips to meet the slide of Flynn’s hand around him. When Flynn once more fixed his mouth on Yuri’s back, it wasn’t long before even the counter wasn’t enough to keep him upright, and Yuri sank to his knees, still clutching feebly at his handholds.

There was a blob of cream that remained beneath his shoulder blade, and Flynn scooped some up on two fingers and reached around.

“Want a taste?”

Eagerly, Yuri took his fingers in, tongue working between them, sucking, moaning around them as Flynn quickened the pace of his strokes below the apron. Yuri was rocking in his arms, gasping and apparently no longer interested in keeping his kitchen off-limits for bedroom activities as he succumbed to the pleasure of touch. Flynn was only too happy to oblige him, feeling his own body straining within too-tight jeans. At this rate, they were going to need to postpone dinner, even if Yuri did manage to pull away and finish cooking it properly.

When he heard the tone of Yuri’s moans change, when he caught the rising pitch and almost pleading edge in his voice, Flynn knew his little distraction would be ending soon. He pulled his fingers out of Yuri’s mouth, kissing along his shoulder in appeasement when Yuri stretched to maintain that connection between them. After briskly wiping away the saliva on his shirt, he pulled out his cell. Pressing a couple buttons had him ready to take a picture, and he held the phone out past Yuri’s shoulder.

“Smile.” He whispered the word in Yuri’s ear and took a quick photo as Yuri tilted up his chin.

A handful of seconds later, Yuri’s spine bowed and he cried out as release took him. Slowly, he melted into Flynn, leaning heavily back and resting his head on Flynn’s shoulder as he caught his breath. Flynn trailed the backs of his fingers lazily up and down Yuri’s side, smiling softly at the pile of satisfied boyfriend in his arms and thinking that it wouldn’t be so bad if Yuri welcomed him home in an apron more often.

“So,” Yuri murmured eventually. “You’re a legitimate pervert.” Rather than getting up and moving away after that accusation, he actually snuggled a little closer, snickering when his movements drew a stifled groan from Flynn’s throat.

“That’s a little harsh coming from someone who seemed to be enjoying it well enough.” Flynn kissed his hair as Yuri laughed softly. 

“Show me the picture.”

“You should probably turn off the stove first.”

“Oh, shit!”

In a flash, Yuri was up and hovering over the frying pans, switching off the burners and fanning the air that Flynn noticed smelled more strongly of burned food than seasonings. Swearing under his breath, he scraped at the results of his distracted cooking with a spatula while Flynn stood up and peered around him.

“I think dinner may be a little overcooked.” 

He took the spatula from Yuri, ignoring the potatoes that had already been stirred into a mix of burned and undone lumps, and flipped one of the egg-in-a-basket slices. The top had still looked like soft bread. The bottom was black around the circle of egg.

“You said I had to cook it, not that it had to be up to my normal standards. We’ll pop it into the oven to reheat after I get cleaned up. It’ll be fine.”

Flynn looked dubiously at the charred slices, certain he knew whose plate they were destined to end up on. Yuri was already walking out of the kitchen, though, and he left the mess behind and turned to follow him toward the bathroom, uncomfortably aware of the evidence of his own desire.

“Want me to wash your back?”

In answer, Yuri smirked over his shoulder and yanked loose the knot that held the apron tied around his waist. Grinning, Flynn caught him up in his arms and ushered Yuri into the bathroom for seconds.


End file.
